The Distance Between Corresponding Points
by Katany
Summary: The Enterprise is to locate a ship which vanished near Darrien 224. With Kirk down on the surface, Spock's command should go better than last time. But inevitably, when the landing party runs afoul of the natives, the Enterprise gets sucked in as well.
1. Chapter 1

_The Distance Between Corresponding Points_

by Katany

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Not for profit. Not affiliated with Paramount, Marvel, or anything else official. Based on _Cloak and Dagger_ as told in _Early Voyages_ 5-6.

The _Enterprise_ has been ordered to locate a survey ship which vanished near the storm-wracked planet of Darrien 224. Captain Kirk meets a new enemy with a familiar face. A different Captain Pike would've told him, on such a world, passions kill.

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No one I think is in my tree,  
I mean it must be high or low.  
That is you can't you know tune in.  
But it's all right.  
That is I think it's not too bad.

-_Strawberry Fields Forever_, Lennon/McCartney

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Chapter 1

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"Captain, I've found something." O'Connor's light voice could barely be heard above the storm.

Despite the bitter winds, James T. Kirk had been ineptly lost in his thoughts. Cautious not to obviously jerk his head in response, he raised his arm to shield his eyes and examined the patch of sand where the scientist pointed. When the sand eddy lessened for a moment, Kirk caught the sun's unnatural reflection amidst the brown tundra.

"Well, something's better than this nothingness. Let's see what we've found." Kirk used the moment to discretely adjust his long sleeves further over his hands as the landing party modified their course towards the object.

"Next time, Jim, just wear the coat."

Kirk scowled at Leonard H. McCoy as they walked in step. He absolutely, in no way, had a phobia about being on ice planets. After Spock's impassive report on the surface conditions - which weren't ice, but cold enough - Kirk had read the challenge in those Vulcan eyes. Prove it. While Kirk could not explain the exact reasons he decided not to wear a coat, he was sure they were logical at the time.

"Why, Bones?" The retort was as unprofessional as Kirk's earlier musings. He really should restrain himself. "I thought the primitive idea of catching your death of cold was debunked centuries ago. Surely you don't subscribe to such backwards thinking."

"I see why he lets you do such stupid things."

"Spock merely sees things my way." Kirk would believe his statement if he could only ignore all those times Spock did that Vulcan equivalent of an eye roll at orders.

"Hardly. The only times he doesn't argue with you are the times he knows you're about to put your foot in shit."

"Ah," Kirk slid his eyes away from the man walking beside him. No need to give too much of the game away. "How else would I know which days to wear my Wellington boots?"

There was a pause in the shuffling footsteps beside him before they hastily returned to his side. "Only you would see having a first officer as pigheaded as you as a benefit."

"You're underestimating me. I also see it as a benefit in my CMO." The captain smirked. He didn't see everything as a game, but his friends were always a challenge worth tracking. Point Kirk.

McCoy's arm on his shoulder forced Kirk to pause his step. "You can't compare-"

"No, I can because you're both the same. I know what you're doing with your talks of humanity and his talks of regulations." His friends seemed to think it was their duty to keep him anchored to reality. They followed him, even had faith in him, but they never comprehend his decisions without explanation, and sometimes not even then. "Because, aside from those little piles you accuse Spock of letting me step in, it's best to keep the Federation's paragon out of serious trouble. And I am that paragon with all the _privileges _it entails." Though he often thought it, he surprised himself at his bitterness.

"You're worried if we correct you, the crew will see you as human instead of infallible."

"We both know that's not what Starfleet wants from their captains let alone their paragons. Humans lose respect and therefore command." It was one of the most basic rules. A rule Kirk had no real chance of observing before taking a command of his own.

"Poppycock. You were forged in fire with your crew. That's not something anyone is likely to forget soon."

"Yes, the crew won't soon forget seeing me tossed off my ship for near mutiny. They won't forget seeing me gain control of my ship by goading my first officer into nearly killing me. They certainly won't forget seeing me question his love for his dead mother."

"That's not quite the story the Federation is spreading."

"Screw the story and screw where it's left us. You've said it yourself: our five year mission has been nothing but a smoke screen. The Federation is still crippled beyond what anyone knows. Our story has been exaggerated to myth to keep anyone from looking too closely. We're not allowed to explore because we might not live up to that myth and discredit their infallible captain."

The Federation had wasted no time putting the Fleet back together. They bought or salvaged any ship, manning them with recruits from across the galaxy. The Fleet began to look as diverse as the cultures it protected. The _Enterprise_ remained embarrassingly Terran; Kirk would've protested except the new recruits could gain far more practical experience on any ship not chained to Earth. His silver lady was the only visible symbol of power, and the bureaucrats were unwilling to lose such a planetary defense.

Kirk's voice began to rise above the storm. He didn't notice it or the cold anymore. "And Heaven forbid for us to leave the quadrant incase they need to recall us for a publicity handshake. We're paraded around on a leash, not allowed to do anything." He shrugged off McCoy's arm as if it were that leash. "I won't stand for it anymore."

He began walking to cool his temper. McCoy would follow. "We only got this mission because we're the starship closest to where Starfleet lost contact with the _Faunus_. Losing another ship was apparently more threatening than losing us for a time."

"Don't sell us short. We're also probably the best equipped to deal with the unknown."

"Perhaps. As for my two keepers, I mean officers, you're here in case we find someone who needs medical aid." Kirk ignored McCoy's choice words about treating possible survivors with only the tools in his handbag. "Spock's up there with the my ship and my crew." Kirk absolutely, in no way, had a phobia about being on ice planets and a Vulcan controlling his ship. "We are, at this moment, precisely where we need to be to ensure the success of the mission. We play this right and we buy our freedom." Freedom: his pulse quickened at just the word.

"Why, Jim, that's most well measured."

"Besides, this way I only have to listen to one of you criticize me." Set point. Kirk found his good mood returning. By now, McCoy had probably diagnosed him as bipolar. "And we're graced with Midshipman O'Connor acting as our science officer."

In her nonregulation boots, Maeve C. O'Connor stood exactly at five feet, though Kirk thought her curves were well worth the effort of lowering his red hair was always pinned up, her manner was quiet, and her mini-dress was almost prudish, but Kirk knew that with the right persuasion she would be as fiery as her hair. He also knew that secretly every girl like Maeve was just waiting to be discovered. He would - quite literally - pick her up, remove those black rimmed glasses which she used to hide her freckles, toss aside whatever research she was usually lost in, and slowly slide her skirt up until the length was as prohibited as her boots. If only-

"If only she wasn't one of that pointy-eared bastard's harem." McCoy switched his focus to the girl, just as Kirk knew he would.

"I take it she still refuses to transfer to Medical?"

"With her training and the way Spock runs his department based on Vulcan efficiency, she shouldn't want to be in Science." It seemed McCoy and Spock's quarrel had converged over a woman, but for personnel reasons.

"Perhaps efficiency is the appeal."

The glint had begun to resemble a more solid shape. Even from his distance, Kirk knew they had found a shuttlecraft. Though he didn't know the exact probably, it was highly likely from the _Faunus_. He raised his voice above the wind. "Good eye, O'Conner." The officer, unaware of her captain's discussion, barely looked up from her tricorder to acknowledge the praise Kirk was sure embarrassed her.

"I wouldn't be so worried for her if she realized how blatantly she idolizes Spock."

For every girl who needed Kirk to discover them, there were two who were determined to save Spock from his logical chains. Often, Kirk's one girl was one of Spock's two. Not that there weren't plenty of women to chase after the planet's savior, but he missed being the pursuer. "Ah, so your transfer offer is chivalry to save 'the lass' from a broken heart."

"Or the Vulcan from a broken hand; I wouldn't doubt the retaliatory ability of our communications officer. Since she hasn't yet, Uhura is either ridiculously trusting or has him whipped enough to not have to worry about his harem drooling after him."

Kirk chucked, then sobered. "I don't think Uhura is good for Spock."

"Really, over a year now and we're back on this?"

"No, no. Not that Spock isn't good for her. I accepted that long ago. It's that she's no good for him."

"And what's this peach?"

"It's her language training. She's corrupting my first officer with her languages." Kirk decided his friend's silence was encouragement to continue. "You know what he said to me on the bridge only last week? 'Captain, you must wait one damn minute.' "

"Well, I suppose if a Vulcan is going to curse, he's going make it formal."

"And when he does that Vulcan not-handshake-thing, you know what he's really saying?" He attempted to separate his middle and ring fingers without using his other hand.

"No, I don't know. But I certainly won't learn it from your hands."

Kirk scowled again, this time at his fingers. Point McCoy. "I meant more what his voice says than his actions or words."

"Frankly, Jim-boy, I don't care. But tell me this. Did anyone else seem to notice the Vulcan saying 'damn' on the bridge?"

Straightening his shoulders as they descended the last sand hill, Kirk sighed. "No."

"Then perhaps he's only cursing in your mind. And what does that say about you?" Kirk wasn't willing to concede another point to McCoy, no matter how smugly the man bounced as he walked.

"I don't know. But I sure the hell could do a better job at teaching him."

"If anyone could, it's you."

He could read the writing on the shuttle now. _Lupercus_. _U.S.S. Faunus_. The vehicle was on its side, half covered in the sands. From above, Kirk had seen the pilot's side door was missing and pondered what could be buried under weeks of sandstorms. He could see the _Lupercus_ crew still strapped into their chairs, each grain of sand slowly submerging them further as it caught in the hallows of their faces. The flesh rotting beneath the sand would give away, cascading the sand terrain downwards until it found stability before the process was repeated.

Kirk drew a deep breath. No need to let his subconscious fears about his mission and freedom manifest like old horror stories. That or the vision was a byproduct of the green vegetables McCoy had forced on his diet card.

"Oliver. Benton. Secure the perimeter."

Off duty, security officers Benniton J. Oliver and Jarrett F. Benton were simply referred to as "The Bens". The Bens were a duet; there was no game or sport the two together couldn't best their opponents.

As the two men were seldom seen apart, the crew often speculated about the nature of their relationship. Even the presence of Oliver's wife, Marie T. Oliver from Engineering, did nothing to slow the speculation. The two were from a conservative background and used Marie as a cover. The two were from a liberal background and Marie actually had two husbands. Marie knew about their relationship. Marie did not know. There was only friendship.

If the three had seemed to mind, Kirk would've done more to slow the gossip. Kirk had let them know their private lives were their own unless they made it ship business. Whatever their arrangement, they all seemed to thrive together. Though most captains would see such a friendship between their security officers as divided loyalty, Kirk had chosen The Bens for this mission himself.

As the security officers began their patrol, Kirk lead the rest of the party to the shuttlecraft.

"I need to know what happened here."

With an embellished wrist snap, he flipped open his communicator. Surface conditions impaired communication and reporting what little information they had took more patience than Kirk possessed. He used the crackling of the static as he closed communications to focus; the mission was only beginning.

"Report, McCoy."

"No life signs. Nothing organic inside either."

"O'Connor."

"There's some serious carbon scorching there on the nacelle, like it was hit by lightning or something similar. The forced landing ripped up about 300 meters of topsoil until it flipped over. I might be able to tell more from the ship's computers. I'd need a boost."

For a moment, the vision of the dead crew returned and Kirk almost refused to let her go. But McCoy had said there was nothing organic, O'Connor would have the most chance of discovering something useful, and Kirk really didn't want to go himself.

While Kirk stood frozen, McCoy seized the moment. "It'd be my pleasure, Midshipman."

Kirk grinned as his friend used his southern drawl to charm the young woman as he assisted her climb.

"I'm sure it was a pleasure." Making note of where The Bens were, Kirk resumed his exploration of the crash site. There wasn't much more he could do, and would've been lost in his own musing again if his foot had not stuck a piece of metal hidden beneath the sand. Dusting it off with his boot, he called McCoy over. "What do you think? It looks like this door was pulled off from the outside."

"Jim, I'm a-"

"Person doctor not a dent doctor. I know. And a pop psychologist to boot. Or do you think I haven't noticed the topic of your conversation recently?"

"You're going to have to deal with the fact he might leave. That his people might need him." McCoy's face became serious, the one that was going to give him forehead wrinkles at a young age.

"If I had wanted to speak to a therapist, I would've made an appointment." He knelt down and pretended to examine the door again.

"You and I both know I could make this official." McCoy's left eye twitched and Kirk knew his CMO was serious that he could. Kirk was sure he wouldn't.

"There's nothing to discuss. Spock isn't leaving the _Enterprise_."

"Oh, well now. Is this something you're making official?"

"I don't need to order him to stay. I just... know." Kirk used his disarming smile, the one that was going to give him creases along his eye at a young age, to cover his lie. The only reason Kirk could give for Spock staying was that he had done so before. But at that time Spock's counterpart had taken his place. The unexplained disappearance of Ambassador Spock two months ago threatened that.

Yet Kirk hadn't been willing to analyze Spock's presence, let alone what the absence of that presence would mean.

He diverted his attention back to the shuttlecraft door. "See here, the outer handle is distorted and these marks here could be from something forcing the door off. It certainly wasn't opened with the inner emergency release."

He moved his hand to the indentations along the edge of the door.

The shift was subtle, like his height was only slightly taller and his eyes were only slightly sharper. The door remained at his feet, but the _Lupercus_ was gone. He raised into a defensive crouch, moving his phaser in a circle around him. The rest of the landing party had disappeared as well, but he barely noticed their absence. Instead, he was focused on a small dune which did not move with the winds. There were five more like it surrounding the ship, just barely within his perception.

Those dunes meant something, Kirk was sure of it.

"Everybody down." The command broke the spell and he was pushing McCoy back towards what little shelter the shuttle wings could provide. Oliver and Benton had found cover on either side of the shuttle and were searching the open desert with their weapons much as Kirk had done.

Kirk counted off a minute in his mind, then two. His eyes remained fixed on the first dune he had noted. But his vision had returned to normal, and he could no longer tell if the wind was moving the sand or if it was a trick of his eyes.

"Next time you don't want to answer a question just say so."

"Bones, get back here." He only looked away for a moment, long enough to make sure he had pulled McCoy far back enough under the wing. It was the sort of lapse he would wait for; he might have appreciated the timing of the attack if it had not been directed at his party. The shot danced across the shuttle surface behind where McCoy had stood, scorching the alloy.

"Call it in." Kirk assigned McCoy the task to give the man a chance to center himself.

The security officers returned fire, but Kirk couldn't spare them a glance. His attacker, nothing more than a brown shadow at that distance, was moving at them in and out of the storm. It took all of Kirk's skill to comprehend the pattern and fire. The figure was lighted with blue energy, and was forced back a set or two. He then fell to one knee before rolling smoothly back into the storm.

McCoy shook the communicator. "I can't get through. Too much interference."

"Of course."

"Captain, they're armored." The shout came from his left.

"I've noticed, Benton." Kirk looked over as he spoke. Benton was locked in combat with another figure, an energy staff caught between the two men. Since McCoy had his phaser aimed where they last saw their assailant, Kirk turned his weapon at the figure attacking Benton. There wasn't a clear shot, but he could finally see their enemy.

The man was covered completely in brown cloth, the ends snapping in the winds. He was indeed armored - scraps of metal, small enough to allow a full range of movement, covered vital areas. His headdress was much like a keffiyeh of Earth, but with the addition of twin filters across the mouth. Only his eyes remained uncovered.

Kirk bit back a curse. He was not going to lose a man during this mission, even if he had to stun him to save him. Still, he needed the best angle possible. The target moved his hand off Benton and back to the staff weapon. Kirk knew, if hit with a phaser set on stun, Benton would drop down leaving the shot open. He was pulling the trigger on his security officer when a slight movement behind the two men drew his fire.

There was a flash from Kirk's phaser hitting shoulder armor of a second assailant. Benton twisted and tossed his opponent backwards a moment later. A second shot was fired from above and the thrown man stilled. Kirk looked up to the shuttle opening to find O'Connor with an oversized phaser riffle, tracking the man he had shot. She shot once, but only the sand crackled as the man seemed to vanish.

"What do you think you're doing? You're a target up there, girl." McCoy looked more upset about O'Connor's unprotected location than the attack. "Get down here."

For a second, Kirk could see the paternal instinct in his friend and wondered at the broken marriage that drove McCoy to Starfleet. But he corrected his lapse to catch the riffle O'Connor tossed at him.

"There should be five more."

Benton, carrying a staff weapon, moved to his side. "I think I can use this."

"Good, where's Oliver?" Kirk didn't wait for an answer, but instead tossed the riffle back to O'Connor when her feet hit the ground. "Cover me."

Kirk moved along the shuttle, varying his steps to present a small, unpredictable target. He reached the edge just in time to see Oliver tossed onto his back and a long weapon with a fin blade raise over him. The blade slashed down, Oliver raised his right arm, and Kirk fired his phaser. As the attacker fell, and the blade struck shallow, slicing only through Oliver's forearm. Kirk recognized the sound of a phaser riffle firing and disregarded stealth to slide to Oliver's side.

By the time Kirk had processed the amount of blood before him, McCoy's knees hit the sand across from him.

"I ordered you to stay put."

"No you didn't. And when there's a medical crisis you can't order me away."

"That's probably why I didn't then."

"Wise. Help me move him."

McCoy had slowed the bleeding. Kirk's stomach twisted at the angle of Oliver's arm. The blade had cut through the bone and it seemed to him only a few inches of flesh kept the arm attached. Oliver's eyes were still open, but were unfocused as they lifted him back to their shelter. He paused long enough to watch McCoy inject Oliver with a hypospray before moving next to the other two members of his party. Benton was scanning the desert, and Kirk felt a moment of pride for the man before speaking.

"There are four more out there. We have two viable weapons, three of us, and a reasonably defensive position. They have the home field advantage and knowledge how to move through this storm. We need to slow the decoys and focus on their main attacks. We will get through this."

He was formulating a plan during his preamble when a shadow fell over them. Kirk looked at the unknown craft hovering above them.

"Well, shit."

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2009/07/25


	2. Chapter 2

With Kirk down on the surface, Spock's command should go better this time. But inevitably, when the landing party runs afoul of the natives, the _Enterprise_ gets sucked in as well.

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Chapter 2

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"Commander, it is now an hour past the landing party's scheduled time to report in."

Spock swiveled the captain's chair to face where Pavel A. Chekov sat at the science station. "One hour, two minutes, and four seconds to be precise."

"Surely we must find out what happened to them. They could be lost or hurt or eaten by a Chuchunaa."

Reattaching the panel beneath the communications station, Nyota Uhura sat back on her heels. "Chuchunaa? Sounds Turkic."

"Yes." Chekov's accent thickened slightly as when he discussed anything Russian. "Related to the Yakut word for fugitive."

Although she wasn't wearing her earpiece, Uhura still touched her ear as she thought. "Or outcast. What is it?"

"They are huge ape-men, over two and a half meters high, with hair all over their bodies, large brows, and small brains. They are man-eaters." Chekov offered Uhura a hand, helping her stand.

"Then they are like Yeti or Bigfoot?"

"Worse. They use spears and bows." He moved to her side and slipped an arm around her waist. "But do not worry. You will be safe while I'm around."

From Uhura's widened eyes and the slightly slackened jaw, Spock knew he should intervene and save Chekov.

"Chuchunna were thought to be a relict of Homo sapiens neanderthalensis. They were to have been a hunter-gather civilization at a time when your ancestors were waging bacteriological warfare. The last reported sighting in Siberia was in the 1990s. Had such creatures existed during that time, they would've been hunted to extinction as a consequence of the Eugenic Wars."

Uhura plucked Chekov's hand off her hip. "How awful."

"Indeed. Fear caused humans to eradicate all those they saw as both genetically superior and inferior."

Chekov wisely stepped back towards the science station. "But still, the Captain-"

Switching to a more formal lecture, Spock stepped in front of the young man. "When facing the unknown, it is best to limit your suppositions. Ship-to-surface communications have been unattainable for one hour, twenty minutes and forty-one seconds, this is a fact. Is it more likely they cannot transmit through the storms or that they cannot transmit through the storms and have been attacked by a mythological creature of your history?"

"But, sir-"

"Ensign, as you well know, the ionospheric conditions which prevent communications also scramble transporter signals. If your assertion is true, another shuttle craft - if it were to make it to the crash sight unharmed - would hardly be in time to render assistance."

"Unless-"

Spock put a bit of command in his voice, the tone Chekov was trained to follow. "I have not asked for conjecture. Return to your post."

"Aye, sir."

The bridge was no place for theatrics or insubordination, yet Spock didn't intend to eliminate the crew's sentiment towards their captain. "Mr. Chekov, I'm certain the captain would appreciate your concern." However, the crew needed to learn how to control their sentiments before they interfered with their duties. "Though he may become distressed at your limited estimation of his fighting prowess against a Neanderthal."

With a sigh, Chekov slid back to the science station and began furiously flipping switches and twisting knobs. Spock knew that nine settings would have to be reset before Chekov could actually resume work, but allowed the ensign his minor emotional release. From behind him at the communications station, Spock heard an echo of the sound, though the touch was slower and more delicate. This was something described to him as an attempt to "look busy" and therefore "fly under the radar". He turned to watch Uhura leaning over the panel until she slowed and faced him.

"Lieutenant, while your interest in your shipmates' cultures is commendable, do so without disruptions on the bridge."

"Understood. It won't happen again." She steadily matched his gaze.

"It won't." Satisfied to have given the proper amount of discipline, Spock returned his attention to her duties. "Where you successful at amplifying the signal?"

"Yes, though I won't know if it's enough until I recalibrate."

That would require three settings she just changed to be reset, but he kept silent. "Very well. Proceed."

Spock returned to the captain's chair and examined the mission reports handed to him. The unmanned probes had returned no sign of the _Faunus_ on the nearby planets_._ He signed the orders to allow the search to continue.

The planetary search of Darrien 224 had to be conducted on foot. Even with all shuttles carrying landing parties, it would've taken 383.74 days to search the entire planet. Kirk had suggested the method with a slight gleam in his eyes which had been absent for some time. First he had confirmed there was no way to project the _Faunus_'s landing pattern from their last transmission or follow their trail to the surface or anything scientific - if she had landed on Darrien 224 at all. Then he had closed his eye, pointed to a spot on the planet, and declared they would start there. The fact that the captain had found signs of the ship on the first day could only be what humans considered lucky. Or unlucky, as Spock suspected Kirk planned to spend as much time away from Earth as possible.

Returning the PADD, Spock examined the bridge. While no one openly doubted his ability to command, the crew often slid their eyes towards him in the captain's chair, more than had Kirk been there or had Spook been at the science station. The unknown status of Captain Kirk unnerved the crew and more outbursts like Chekov's would follow. Unfortunately, there was no task to assign them which would not reinforce nothing could be ascertained until the storm cleared. He should address the crew. A Vulcan crew would not require a speech to keep them motivated and focused; despite his years among humans, Spock was unsure what to say.

Spock found himself staring at Uhura eighteen seconds longer than the other personnel. The only officer who would write him up on such a lapse was himself, but experience had taught him Starfleet would simply be more annoyed with the extra paperwork.

He managed to stare twenty-three seconds longer before she turned back and smiled. It was a human smile, warm and open.

There was a slight pang in his chest, a fitting place for the pain of loss of his human mother. There was much of his parent's relationship he had never understood. The Vulcan way was not easy, but his mother had believed it as the better one. Still, she had never spoken to him of the trails she endured to adapt to a Vulcan husband and child.

As beneficial as knowing such trails would have been, he had not asked the two who might answer. Vulcans could not speak of such things in the same manner their human companions could've.

An intercom whistle with an update from Engineering brought Spock out of his thoughts. Despite his wondering mind, Spock had properly evaluated his command conditions and managed to solve his most recent energy conversion equation. Command left little time for such pursuits, yet paradoxically left him little concrete work to do on the bridge.

Fortunately the rumors suggesting he would be offered his own command had not been true.

As Starfleet procured and produced more starships, more officers were required. This resulted in many officers being pulled out of retirement and many young personnel promoted, though none other as young as Kirk. Some from the Academy thought Spock to be an ideal choice, not only because of his experience, but because what a Vulcan captain could mean for Starfleet. But the bureaucrats decided they needed their savior team together. Spock had paid no attention to the rumors. He never felt the need to command as Kirk obviously did.

"Commander, from these sensor readings, I'd say there is something out there." Chekov's voice broke through his thoughts.

"Something, Ensign?"

"It could just be background radiation, but it could be a shuttle. It couldn't be larger than that."

Spock moved to the science station and examined the readings. Indeed there was a slight fluctuation which could be indicative of a shuttle craft. Most officers would've dismissed the readings. Spock was pleased the earlier outburst had not affected the young man's performance. "On screen." For a moment, the screen showed only space. "Magnification ten."

"That's," Uhura paused, as if searching for the right word, "hideous." The light murmur among the crew indicated they agreed.

The shuttle on the screen looked as if it had been designed from a ship graveyard. Spock recognized various technologies, as if a Federation, Cardassian, and Yridian shuttle were welded together, along with various other components he didn't recognize. The hull was pieced together from various ships, as could be seen by the varying colors and the two partial, yet unrelated, insignias which were visible. The fact it was flying towards them wasn't as striking as the fact it was flying at all.

"Sir, I'm not sure how they're moving. They're not leaving any sort of energy signature." Chekov spoke quicker, a touch of awe in his voice.

"It is simply nothing our sensors are programmed to detect. Any life forms?"

"Five of them: humanoid. Life support systems are functioning; interior atmosphere nitrogen-oxygen.

"Open hailing frequencies."

"Already done, sir." Uhura gave her report while still listening through her earpiece. "They say they are from the _Faunus_ and request docking permission."

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_Ship's Log_

_First Officer Spock recording_

_Five crew members of the _Faunus,_ including Captain George F. Luder, have boarded from an unmarked shuttle craft. There are no reported injuries. I have asked the captain to report to me on the bridge before sickbay. If he has news of his ship or the conditions on the surface, we might extrapolate the condition of Captain Kirk's landing party._

_Lieutenant Commander Scott has been granted access to the unmarked shuttle as time permits. Once Captain Luder has provided an explanation on how he possessed such an eclectic machine, effort should be taken to identify and location the designers._

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"Captain, you intended to tell me you ignored a Code 7-10? The quarantine code which states under no circumstance is a ship to approach the planet." Spock spoke slowly, as if speaking to a child and stared calmly at the man as he leaned back in the command chair, his fingers interlaced in his lap.

Luder stood at six feet with broad chest, hazel eyes, a mole on his square jaw, and brown hair lengthened just within regulation. He must've been unused to people questioning his orders; at Spock's question, he furrowed his brow and held his tightly clenched hands by his thighs. "There shouldn't have been a Code 7-10. There isn't a Federation outpost on the planet. There wasn't supposed to be anything on it."

"So you opted to investigate without informing Starfleet of you intentions?"

"Well, I wasn't about to tell them I was investigating a Code 7-10 planet."

At least the captain was flustered with his own twisted logic. "Continue. What is the status and location of your crew and vessel?"

"The crew of the _Lupercus_, except for Yeoman Trace - God rest her soul, is in your sickbay. We departed-"

"Sir, I'm picking up something at the edge of our sensors. Larger this time. I think it's the _Faunus_."

Spock didn't bother checking the Russian's word. "On screen."

The ship on screen was an old style Vulcan research vessel, bought and salvaged by Starfleet. Meaning engineers had attached as many weapons to the haul as there was room and the upgraded engines could support.

"Hailing channels are open. I'm not getting a response."

"Keep attempting, Lieutenant."

Luder grabbed the side of the captain's chair. "Those aren't my men."

"Explain."

The helmsman drew Spock's attention from Luder. "Proximity alarm. They're moving in fast."

"Shields up."

The warnings went off as the ship rocked. Unaware crew were sent sprawling across the bridge. Spock narrowed his eyes at the screen as he was forced to grip the sides of Kirk's chair.

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2009/08/09


End file.
